


in the cold, you look so fierce (but i'm warm enough)

by celestialuhan (sansas)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9823613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansas/pseuds/celestialuhan
Summary: [ ON HIATUS ] In which Kyungsoo is a phone sex operator, and his favorite customer is a frisky caller that goes by the name of "Kai."





	

To Jongin, his roommate is an enigma, but not the good kind. 

The good kinds of enigmas are the ones that draw you in, keep you close, and never let you go. They’re the ones that force you to stay up until half past three, trying to remember every fragment of them to piece together, and falling asleep with a frustration that is oftentimes mingled with a flutter of excitement. Any good mystery leaves you wanting more. 

This is not the case with Do Kyungsoo. 

In fact, if there is anything that Jongin is sure of, it is that Kyungsoo is the kind of enigma best left alone, if not completely wrapped up, and stuffed into whatever sarcophagus it had been in before he had come into the former’s life. 

It isn’t even that Kyungsoo is arrogant in the traditional sense of the trait. He rarely parades around — he hardly even talks. Therein, Jongin believes, lies the problem. More than once, he has considered that his roommate simply does not speak because he assumes that it is below him. This, Jongin gets from the vibe that Kyungsoo gives off, which, in fifty words or less, is unpleasant and a little intimidating, and not to mention overwhelmingly stale. 

When he had entered the Korean National University of Arts a term ago, he had expected people a little more like him — that is, willing to socialize, to share opinions and create academic discourse (whatever that was), and maybe to have a bottle or two of soju on a Friday night. The assumption was that roommates would provide you with all of these opportunities, if not more. By definition, they were meant to do two things: have your back, and stay out of the room when you were getting laid. 

He had been disappointed, then, to find that his roommate, a supposed Theatre Studies major, had the personality of a loaf of bread. Scratch that — a very dry, hard loaf of bread, with about six layers of mould to keep it warm. 

Self-contained people, he is sure, exist in on a plane of pride far above those who like to brag about themselves. They are the people who refuse to let you know what they are thinking, leaving others around them to believe that they are thinking of the worst things. They are inconsiderate, overtly rude in their own method without having to do anything, unwilling to create, interact, and — well, exactly like Do Kyungsoo. 

Jongin can’t remember having shared more than a hundred words with Kyungsoo over the span of one whole term in school. This doesn’t count the curt “hey’s” and “bye’s”, because, recently, they’ve disappeared entirely. The last conversation they had had was one involving Jongin saying “excuse me” to get a bottle of water from the mini refrigerator, and Kyungsoo replying with a grunt that sounded forty percently like a “sorry.” 

That had been three days ago. 

Now, Jongin is lying in bed, his laptop whirring on his stomach, six tabs of Facebook open on the exact same post on his timeline so that he could at least _feel_ like he was doing something, instead of simply glancing at Kyungsoo every ten seconds.

_When are you leaving?_

He wants to yell it out, if he is being completely honest with himself; he hates the dead air that follows Kyungsoo whenever he enters the room, and stays until one of them escapes its confines. 

_What could he_ **_possibly_ ** _be doing?_

He hates that Kyungsoo is seated at his desk, hunched over a piece of paper and writing in deliberate strokes. Hasn’t he ever heard of time management? Who takes notes like this? Furthermore, what could he be writing? The term has barely started; what homework would a theatre major have to do, anyway? 

Jongin wants to scream that this, what he is doing, — or, you know, _he, Kyungsoo_ — is absolute bullshit, but he bites his tongue. Being roommates with him has given Jongin access to a strict schedule the other abides by. Predictably, he goes to class at eleven in the morning, disappears for a good six hours supposedly learning whatever there is to learn about theatre, before coming back to the room, doing whatever he can in the one or so hour he has to himself, and departing for work. From then until three in the morning, Jongin is alone in the dorm room, revelling in his own time and space, until Kyungsoo slips back in and crashes on his own mattress. 

Day in, day out, it is like this. Sometimes, Kyungsoo comes home at four. Other times, he takes the night off; Jongin never notes when, because he tries to leave the room when he realizes the other guy isn’t planning on getting his ass off the bed for the rest of the foreseeable evening.

It looks like Kyungsoo is planning on leaving tonight, though, because he has his backpack zipped up, and also because he hasn’t fallen asleep on his bed yet. All he is doing is scribbling, endlessly, a little annoyingly. Jongen grits his teeth, and reminds himself that he will be alone in approximately ten minutes. He can wait until then.

With a sigh he hopes his roommate hears, he opens a seventh Facebook tab. He has a new friend request from some fellow freshman named Oh Sehun, who, if he remembers correctly, is in his Maths Appreciation class this term.

He ignores it, for the timebeing.

“Bye,” he says, too quickly, when Kyungsoo stands up. He receives a glance with somewhat narrowed eyes that lasts long enough to make him feel like he’s committed a crime. With a cavalier lick of his lips, Kyungsoo returns the favor just as eloquently. 

“Bye.”

Jongin lets out a sigh of relief when he hears the door open, then quickly shut. He pushes his laptop off his stomach, and pads to the door, peering through the peephole to see if the other boy has truly gone. Confirming it, he slams the deadbolt shut, just in case. He’ll set an alarm to unlock it later. 

To this day, he still doesn’t know what Kyungsoo does for a living. From what little he has gathered, it seems like his roommate is on an emergency aid duty of sorts. Or, was it that he helped out with people with special needs? Whatever it was, it was something saintly, he assumed, because there was no way someone as self-actualised as Kyungsoo would accept a job flipping burger patties in a university rip-off version of McDonald’s. 

It doesn’t matter, though. The point is, Jongin is alone now, and will be for a good portion of the night, to do exactly as he wants. 

He hurries back to his bed, exiting all the tabs on his browser (consequently forgetting Oh Sehun’s friend request) and shutting his laptop down. He throws off the covers first, then his jeans, and then his shirt, before going back to check if the deadbolt is still in place. They haven’t opened the blinds of the small window of Kyungsoo’s side of the room since the first month of the first term. 

Jongin dims the lights as much as he can without making it impossible to see; in the end, he leaves the light in the bathroom open and closes the door so that only a sliver of yellow-white spills to the floor. He slides into bed, taking his phone with him, and opens his mobile browser to a bookmarked tab. 

It isn’t long before the dorm room is filled with soft groans at half-volume, even though they aren’t Jongin’s (yet). He’s actually regularly embarrassed at having to watch porn to get himself started, but his imagination has never been his crowning glory, and he prefers things that are a little closer to tangible than simply imagining someone giving him a handjob. 

He hates the fact that he has to wait, but they’ve had a previous arrangement — nothing formal, but something heavily implied. Jongin has to go through the motions of getting himself hard via a 240px clip on the “gay” tab before making the call, because _he_ has other customers, surely, with way he is on the phone, and he’s mentioned — on more than one occasion — that hearing Jongin climax is the only thing that makes his shift a little more bearable every night. If anything, that only makes the experience that much more of a turn-on for him. 

What seems like an hour passes before Jongin closes his browser — in reality, it’s only been about seven minutes, but his cock has grown steadily and considerably in his hand, straining the front of his boxer shorts. He decides now is a good time as any to make the call. 

He accidentally dials his older sister twice — he still isn’t as good without his dominant hand, which is currently stroking his length — before he gets through to the correct line. A supposedly sultry tune which sounds more like sexy elevator music plays before it is abruptly cut with the sound of someone picking up. Jongin’s heart skids forward a little, and, without waiting for a “hello,” he initiates the conversation. Impatience is not a sin, especially not when one has their fingers around their own shaft. 

“It’s me.”

An exhale sounds from the other end — not one of exasperation, but of relief — punctuated by a soft chuckle. The familiarly low, husky voice greets Jongin’s ears, and his hand picks up the pace by a fraction at the sweet tone. 

_ “I’ve been waiting for your call, Kai.” _


End file.
